


Bigmouth Strikes Again

by shutupmurphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Punk, F/M, Memori - Freeform, Memori AU, Modern Era, Punk Memori, Punk Murphy, Punk Murphy AU, the 100 au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shutupmurphy/pseuds/shutupmurphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smelling like bleach isn’t very punk. Playing janitor for the day at the worlds grimiest bars in town was never something John Murphy imagined for himself when he took the bartending job at Grounders but he was going to make the best out of the situation just out of pure spite. [AKA - PUNK AU  MEMORI].</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bigmouth Strikes Again

**Author's Note:**

> [Title taken from Bigmouth Strikes Again by The Smiths].

_He was going to quit._  
_Right now._  
_After this._  
_Fuck it._  
_As soon as he saw that piece of shit out of his office._  
_Now._  
_After his shift._  
_Shit.  
_ _He needed the money._

Jaha had him scrubbing the only bathroom Grounders had. It hadn’t been cleaned since he had thrown up all over it at Bellamy’s twenty-third birthday party. Almost a year ago. The smell of bleach was overpowering the ripeness of the clogged toilet, but the evidence that someone had drank an entire half gallon of strawberry milk while taking a shit in there was a little too much to handle. The empty carton was done away with fairly early in the cleaning process but even in his vilest of couch surfing days, he had never come across something so disturbing. Couples making out in a piss-stained metro elevator? Sure. Used condoms floating in a park fountain? Be safe kids. Dirty needles at IHOP? Pass the syrup. But strawberry milk in a public toilet? That was getting into crustpunk territory. 

Grounders had never been the most wholesome place for the most part, but when Jaha wasn’t around it felt like home. People slammed danced into the bar. Girls got into fist fights with guys twice their size. It was rough, but it was the only place where he felt like he could be himself. The only reason his high schoool friends, or really Bellamy and  _his_  friends, dropped by was for the occasional free drink and the people watching. But one too many free drinks had been passed around and Jaha had caught on. John Murphy had gone from the not-so-friendly neighborhood bartender to slave in a single night.

The cuts on his knuckles stung as he submerged his hands in the murky bucket he had been kicking around the room the entire night. It had started off as water and bleach but overtime had become something a whole lot more unpleasant. The strong smell made his eyes water and he didn’t dare think about the shit job he was doing as far as Mr. Clean was concerned. It was a shithole and it would remain a shithole when he was done with it.

He left the graffiti alone and focused on the caked on dirt around the toilet bowl. He had almost forgotten how annoyed he was at the entire situation until he heard the playlist he had carefully crafted change past the heavy metal door. Mbege had arrived. He didn’t envy his friend, knowing he would have to take on the late night crowd until his task was complete but he knew that he would rather be anywhere but there. Hugging a filthy toilet bowl without even a night of getting black out drunk and throwing up to warrant the occasion. Wet grimy sponge in hand, he grunted as it slapped against the dirty ground.

“I’m fucking done with this.” He was too busy cursing under his breath to notice the door opening behind him. The music swelled as the heavy door behind him swung forward and back, landing hard on it’s frame with a thud.

“Don’t stop on my account.” The small hairs on Murphy's arms stood on end at the sound of the strangers voice and he nearly knocked over the bucket near his boot as he craned his neck.

A girl stood with her back against the door looking down at him with a wry smile. He didn’t recognize her, although any girl he typically paid attention to was just for a night and blurred beyond recognition by one too many drinks. But he was fairly certain they had never met. She had a face tattoo for fucks sake.

Murphy nodded, eyes flicking over her body before looking down at his knuckles. She was the type of girl he would fight over. Or fight with. Either way, really.

“Just don’t hurl over my handiwork and we won’t have a problem.” His eyes, half lidded, slid back over her as he smirked. 

“Maybe not until later.”

John Murphy tried. Damn it, he tried. He tried his best to keep from staring but instead of moving towards the one toilet with an actual door on it, the girl opted for the one closest to him. He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes down at the spot of caked on grease against the floor molding that would never budge. But he continued to scrape, hoping it would distract him from the beautiful girl who had the balls to take a leak right in front of him. 

A moment passed and when he heard the zipper on her jeans lower, his fucking big mouth got the best of him.

“So, come here often?” He felt his lips curl upward, despite the kick in the teeth that he expected to follow. When the killing blow didn't come, he looked up at her, modesty be damned and he caught her smiling at him. He ignored the sound of her peeing but to be frank, her immodesty about the whole thing was what was keeping his interest. The girl had nerve, if nothing else. Maybe a few screws lose but that always seemed to be his type.

“Just moved here. This place is disgusting.”

“Thank you.” He wrung the sponge out before placing it on the sink and hoisted himself up to his feet. “What’s your name?”

She seemed to have lost interest in him, now that he was no longer forced to stare at her beetle boots. This only made him, in a twisted way, like her more. As she spat out her name, “Emori.” as an after thought, she focused her attention on the roll of toilet paper. John Murphy's eyes drifted to her left hand. Not only was it a bit larger than her right but her fingers appeared to be mismatched and webbed. Each finger was lined with stick-and-poke tattoos, some better done than others.

“I’m John.” He averted his eyes, giving her a shred of privacy that he felt he owed her until he heard the toilet flush and her zipper once again. His mind was reeling.

Her pointed boots, uncared for and scuffed to shit, came into his view first as she sidled up to the sink. As much as her hand begged to be stared at, knowing she was scrubbing both right and left with the sad excuse for bar soap next to the tap, Murphy stared at her face. He had never been more affected by a girl in his entire life and even though his head was racing with all the ways he could get her out of those tight pants, there was also something else there. Something he wasn't as familiar with. 

“John?” Emori’s voice was sweet and she turned her eyes toward him while she dried her hands off on the front of her jeans.

“Yeah?” Before Murphy could register what was happening, Emori’s hand was pressed up against his chest, pinning him against the wall behind him. 

“Caught you looking.” She backed up, her hand shoving her off him as she headed for the bathroom door. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?”

She was at the door by the time Murphy realized that she was looking for an answer, challenging him to fuck it up. He merely shrugged and bent down again to grab the sponge from his bucket.

“I saw something that interested me.”

At that, Emori paused as if to examine his nervous ticks for any sign of bullshit. He didn’t really blame her. As she opened her mouth to possibly fire back the door behind her pushed open, sending them both back to reality. The intrusion of the outside world softened the girl in front of him, seeming to take note of what he had really said to her.

Emori caught the door from closing fully, eyeing the girl who had walked in as she took the private stall and as her attention turned back to him, sharing a mischievous smile with him. 

“See you around, John.”

The door thudded behind her and John Murphy let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

_Holy shit._

_Emori._ The name bounced around in his brain and made his nerves buzz. Jaha was getting a fucking earful but maybe he’d save the unemployment line for a later date.

But he was _never_ fucking cleaning this shit hole ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Memori (and basically all things Murphy) so much that I threw myself back into fic writing to write this. It's been a while so I'd love to hear what you think! I hope you all like it as much as I liked writing it!
> 
> If you DO like it, I'll keep adding. Maybe as as series of drabbles or a cohesive story. WE'LL SEE. 
> 
> [Chapter title taken from Punk Rock Girl by The Dead Milkmen].


End file.
